Pumping Iron

Some time ago, never mind how long precisely, I was sitting in the green room of a local theater, waiting to rehearse one of my scenes. It was a hot summer night, and pretty much everybody was wearing shorts. One of my fellow actors and I were talking to a cute college student props and makeup girl. For some reason, she volunteered that she had placed second in the Girl's State Championship 800 meter race when she was in high school. My friend scoffed and grabbed her leg about mid-thigh.

"No you didn't," he said. "You are no athlete."

At that point he grabbed my thigh and insisted she do the same.

"Ed," he pronounced, "is an athlete."

At the time I was in my late forties, at least forty pounds overweight, and the only exercise I could remember doing recently was lifting my fat ass out of the chair.

So, anyway, I have my doubts about the thigh test as a fitness diagnostic. It might be genetic. I was really impressed with how it allowed my friend to get up close and personal with the girl, though.

Two and a half decades later, my thighs are still pretty firm. Of course I still do pump a little iron. Like *very* little. While waiting for the leg machine at the gym today, I noticed that the not very big girl using it was moving four times my starting weight - two and a half times my final weight. I wasn't about to try squeezing her thighs.

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